Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Why I Imagine My Roommate's Parents Having Sex and other lively events

My new roommate has a weird phenomenon going on in her life called, ‘her parents are still married’. It is very strange and I am not quite sure how to handle it. For instance, on holidays she only has 1 house to go home to, I mean, that’s just strange and no step-half-quarter-from-another-mother anything. Sometimes I just want to study her, if not purely for the fact that she has enjoyable boobs to stare at…but regardless … her parents, of which I will make up two names to protect the innocent, let us call them “Parah” and “Fike”. Well recently a lot of discussion has been turned towards how Parah and Fike keep up their relationship so well. We have concluded it must be the wild sex. Now whenever there is a lag in the conversation I like to say things like, ‘So you think Parah and Fike are getting it on, on the kitchen table right now?’ or ‘You think Parah and Fike are doing it doggy style over the ottoman?’ or my personal favorite ‘so you think Parah is taking it in the ass right now while watching QVC?’ This has become such a favorite pastime and topic of discussion that we have designated rooms that Parah and Fike must be getting it on in.

Not to mention Parah and Fike are never just having normal missionary style sex, no no, we (and when I say “we” I do mean “I”) like to imagine them in some sort of tantric position, one leg in the air, the other leg tied back with rope covered in cottage cheese or something, I’m just guessing, maybe lo-fat cottage cheese or the one with chives in it.
The only reason I have been able to keep up these sex talks for as long as I have is that fact that I have never met the alleged Parah and Fike in person. But I do imagine them to wear very sturdy Tevas with white socks and nothing else. Maybe Fike has some kind of beading in a long string of gray hair, possibly a tattoo of an eagle… I’m just thinking out loud here.

Monday, September 24, 2007

The Weekend- Re-Cap

So over the weekend I had a little bit of this done:

But luckily my surgeon looked a lot like this:

So it was ok for me to get naked in front of him, obviously.
And I am still suffering, but I have a lot of things to help me cheer up, like lots of this:

And being that the pills from the good doctor leave me with not appetite, I am close to looking like this:

All in all, well played weekend.
Oh and final thought:
My Anesthesiologist looked like this:

So I am sure he practiced opening his first veins on this:

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Soldiers, a Tale of Being Lost in the Crowd

Saturday nights are what I call a “blood bath” …it is a war scene with every man out for himself…the last Saturday I spent out in the city I was greeted by a long line of people. A line? People apparently didn't know this was Murray Hill and not fucking Studio 54. Then inside it was so crowded that trying to walk to the back of the bar was more like passing through the receiving line at a wedding; you stand there, moving slowly, passing people nodding and smiling, sometimes bowing like a small Chinese man. And without fail one of your friends somehow gets lost in the crowd or falls behind the ranks, you leave them and don’t stop to look back….you can never stop to look back! You wait until everyone is back outside the bar and then figure out who is going to go back in and retrieve the man-down. Whoever is “the chosen one” ventures back into the bar like a soldier going back onto the combat grounds…. her purse flinging everywhere, chest puffed out, hands pushing away people on all sides, stilettos crushing rolling beer bottles like tiny land mines.

During this time, the friends waiting outside have their own heroic duties to perform. They are put into high-texting mode. This involves everyone texting simultaneously, “Where are you?” to the girl left behind. If she does not respond within a calculated minute and a half, then there is another, more angry text sent out. “You better get outside before we leave without you...” In this text sometimes CAPS are put into use… because as we all know CAPS MEANS BUSINESS. If the mission becomes too much for one person to handle, a 3rd girl be sent in to retrieve both Girl A and Girl B. This is done only under severe circumstances …and by “severe” I do mean,one of the girls waiting outside has to pee.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Sir Douche A Lot, A Brave Man

Look at this ass right here, he looks totally douche-tastic,
you can take your suit off now asshole and come buy me a drink

I have this small problem. I have a tattoo, one I got a long time ago, in fact I don’t even remember when I got it, probably amidst some drunken night back freshman when things like ‘going to times square’ were cool. The tattoo is imprinted directly on my forehead and reads ‘I Love Douchebags’. Now I know what you’re thinking ‘Kim why would you want such a tattoo put on your forehead’. And to be honest folks, I don’t ever remember it being there in the first place, but without fail every time I go out, I attract assholes better than free lube night on Fire Island.

Fire Island would like to thank the makers of the banana bottom

Case in point, Friday night in a trendy lounge I met a very heroic man who had the strength and courage to wear his suit out to the bar at midnight. Now what kind of strong brave solider would do this kind of formality? Well, I know! Sir Douche-a-lot! Ah Yes, Sir Douche-A-Lot noticed the tattoo on my forehead and came promptly over to speak with me. I asked him about his suit-in-bar and he explained to me that only the bravest of all solider must wear his uniform at all times, he explained he had a very important “financial job” at a very important place called “Wachovia”. I asked him if this ‘important’ job had the title of “Teller”. He explained that it did not and seemed to scowl at the idea of it. No no, this man was far too important that he must wear his suit at all time, even in a 90 degree bar at midnight, as he never knows when he might need to do things like ‘count money’ or ‘make coffee’ for someone.

He seemed confused that I didn’t enjoy how important him and his Wachovia job was being that I did have the asshole tattoo on my forehead. His friend even suggested he take his jacket off, but no, did the Spartans in 300 take their metal breast plates off? NO!

Did Mel Gibson take off his loin cloth in Braveheart? NO!

ahh Mel, such a brave warrior

He said he needed to leave it on, least he be confused with the common folk that do not have important Wachovia jobs.

Wachovia, only breeding the best assholes around
Wachovia, because you're money should be protected by an asshole

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Laura Ingraham and The Ya Ya Traveling Pants

This morning while getting dressed, fixing my hair, taming the lion in my bed, I caught a glimpse of the Today Show on NBC. Now I know what you’re thinking ‘ it’s because Matt Lauer wears those hot high waisted dad-jeans, but alas no, I already have that as my screen saver so no need to worry….
Matt's jeans flatter his body to no end, I look at this picture and think 'damn'
I was horrified to find a woman on the program named Laura Ingraham speaking about how we are a porn-tastic country where the media and news replay shots of people like Britney Spears writhing around in her underwear simply because sex sells. She went on to mention something about us all taking action and stopping the overt sexuality that is all over TV…make our young children put on clothes…feed the homeless blah blah blah.

that's a man baby, dont look directly at her or your pupils will set on fire

What kind of malarkey was this woman saying? Cover up? Our bodies? With clothes? Lady listen to me, they don’t call us Amer-I-Ca-take-your-clothes-off for nothing, ok? Clearly being that she was born during the era of dinosaurs I could see how women showing some ankle maybe even a calf could be disturbing for this lady. I mean she was wearing some shiteous pink or floral or ancient smock, probably made by the ancient Greeks, I don’t know. The point is, stop trying to take naked-ness away from me! If women like Britney didn’t show up naked how else would I feel good about myself? Self-Esteem, Shmaelf-Esteem…I want to be naked, hell I can barely keep my clothes on at the gym as is, the fitness manager has to tap me on the shoulder sometimes and let me know that naked squats over the ballet bar are not appropriate at Jesus-Gyms-R-US.

Laura has her own fashion line, I believe it is sold in a fancy store called 'Muslim Chic'
Miss Ingraham needs to jump off her conservative horse for a moment and consider this, how the hell am I supposed to find a husband if I don’t walk around with my ya-ya-sisterhood hanging out all day? You tell me that Laura! ...with dignity and class? PUH-LEASE

Monday, September 10, 2007

"The Freeze"

There is a time in every young woman’s life when she learns skills passed on from generations. Skills like cooking a turkey, changing a tire, finding a strange man’s bathroom in the dark
half-cocked running through a hallway in your bra top…essentially the usual…But beyond, cooking and cleaning and using a Swiss army knife for… well for whatever you use those things for I don’t skill I would like to pass on to a younger generation is ‘The Freeze’. ‘The Freeze’ may help you survive in the wild jungle world, where men are allowed to roam free and are not tied up inside metal cages, such as they do in civil places with funny names like, “Alabama”.

Is this so wrong...Or so very very right

Scene: You are at a bar, with your friends, drinking the finest Pabst's Blue Ribbon they have on tap, dancing along to Salt-n-Peppa (or Pepp-ER as us white people like to say, HOLL-ER) when you see him, “Mr. Black Lee Jeans” , it like a scary movie you can't stop from playing, he is about to come over and go in for the ass-hump-dance all men instinctively do (it’s like fish knowing how to swim, men know how to ass hump) this when you do what I like to call, ‘The Freeze’.

this is me dancing in a bar, doing 'the freeze 'per usual, I know what you're track suit

‘The Freeze’ consists of stopping all dancing mid-motion to advert the guy into thinking neither you, nor the dancing, ever existed. It is just like in Jurassic Park, when the scientist told the little kids, "if you don't move, the Dinosaur can't see you…." You must to warn all your girlfriends, let them know Mr. Black jeans is headed your way, create a hand signal, for you must all freeze at once, act like you were never dancing, like you never even existed. As soon as you freeze, the guy will too. Don’t blink. Don’t cough. Don’t move. Just stand. Arms in the air if you must. Hips to the side, about to do the ‘Humpty-Hump’… but just-don’t-move.

comon everybody, do the humpty hump

Mr. Black Jeans will then look around the room, thinking “I thought I saw four hot girls dancing in the corner? But I guess not, I can't see them anymore, in fact I don’t see anyone dancing....I better leave.”
If these Jeans aren't sexy then I don't know what is

Tuesday, September 4, 2007


-Guy in rental car office giving you good deal for wearing a small tank top- $0

-Manager allowing you to cut the bathroom line at the beach club -$0

-Not having to pay for drinks at bar in bikini top with tiger print- $0
Damn I look good in my tiger bikini..
You mean I wasn't supposed to show up in a cage at the beach?

-Pretending to not notice V-neck is distracting to doorman as you slip into hotel - $0

-Playing off an IQ of -3 to get out of talking to anyone at the bar- $0

God creating boobs – Priceless
This is me, on a mountain top, asking God for boobs

There are some things money can’t buy.
For everything else, there’s boobs.